mornings after
by withered
Summary: Cana likes Drunk Laxus. Mainly because when he gets sober later he makes pancakes, and any man willing to drink under the table with her and then cook breakfast the next morning is a man out for her heart.


**STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.**

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mornings after

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It starts off as a mistake.

They have one too many drinks at the guild, and after drunkenly singing along to one of her favorite songs, Cana decides that he's more fun intoxicated and vows to be around more often when he is.

The morning following that night, Cana wakes up to the heavy stench of alcohol and the fact that there's a half empty mug of ale still in front of her. Oh, and that her new drinking buddy has thrown his black cape like jacket with its warm white fur lining over her shoulders before leaving.

"He didn't want to," Mira informs, "but you insisted."

"Oh, on him leaving?" she petulantly asks.

Mira laughs. "No, on keeping his jacket."

The next time they're drinking together, they land up in bed. Platonically, of course.

She thinks it's a good way to pay him back for the last time, all things considered.

Laxus has too much to drink that time (at her goading), and can't get up the co-ordination to stand let alone remember where he lives so she takes him home with her and puts him to bed on her couch. Of course, even Drunk Laxus is too much of a snob to take it and decides instead that her bed is far more suitable:

"Why." He's completely shitfaced, Cana knows, but he still manages to sound completely serious.

"W-what kind of question is that? No, I brought you here so you wouldn't wake up with a crick in your neck the next morning and the smell of more booze, you aren't used to it," and you'll get sick and throw up in front of all the pros still in there, Mavis knows your pride wouldn't be able to take that. "I'm doing you one better then you did me the last time, but I'm not going so far as to _give you my bed_."

His brows furrow. "But why?"

"Laxus," she begins with a patience she doesn't actually have, "just shut up, go back to the couch and go to sleep."

But he just sits there in her bed, blankets already strewn around his waist. His shirt discarded earlier when she told him to "make himself comfortable" and his hair in disarray from the nap she had woken him from when she found him there.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Cana stalks to the living room to sleep on the couch, as his royal pain in the ass suggested earlier.

Not even ten minutes later, he pads out, her blankets now used as a makeshift cape.

"Your bed is warmer."

"It should be," she answers, clipped.

"I didn't mean to kick you out of it," he reasons, "only that it's big enough for the both of us."

She raises a brow at him. "Are you sure you want to be suggesting things like that?" When he continues to stare at her in confusion, she elaborates, "I'm pretty sure you're too much of a prude to be happy about that in the morning."

"It's okay," Laxus says seriously, "I don't think you'll take advantage of me."

And she laughs.

Per his insistence, she does indeed share the bed with him, and as she predicted, he wasn't happy about it in the morning: the promise of pancakes seem to placate him, and Cana regrets helping him.

The morning after that with no drinks shared between them the night before, Laxus "breaks in" to her house to return the favor:

Leaning against the doorframe and rubbing her eyes with one hand, she swallows a yawn. "I must be dreaming."

He looks awkward standing in her doorway, but his face is stern – eyes narrowed and lips thinned. Clearly, he doesn't want to be here.

When he doesn't say anything for the longest time, she peers at him curiously, crossing her own arms subconsciously to mirror his stance and also because despite her ample bosom, no, she doesn't sleep with a bra on.

"I came to apologize."

"And it couldn't wait until, I don't know, a time when normal humans are awake?"

"It's ten in the morning."

Her incredulous look stays, and he rolls his eyes with a muttered, "Of course."

Sighing, she steps aside. "Well, if I'm going to have to drag this apology out of you, you might as well come in."

Despite only being in her house that one time yesterday, he seems to have it memorized.

Without prompting he makes his way into the kitchen, turns on the stove and digs around the cupboards.

"Uhm yeah, make yourself at home. Sure, whatever," she waves off carelessly. "I don't mind, but I had a shit night so…"

His crown of gold hair bobs in a nod. "Go back to bed, it's fine."

Giving him a strange look, she returns the nod and goes back to her blankets and pillows that still retain the scent of his shampoo. It's faint enough that she has to bury her nose to get to it, and even then she doesn't decipher what the smell actually is.

An hour later, she wakes up to a different smell: cologne and sunshine.

Turning over and stretching, she almost screams when she finds Laxus crouched beside her, plate of pancakes in hand – and – she sniffs – he's fried bacon too. "Wha-what?"

"I'm sorry."

It takes her a few minutes to figure out what he means, and no, he won't elaborate further because there's a pink twinge across his cheeks and he looks like a bashful little kid that she _absolutely_ has to resist cuddling as she did the evening before.

"You made me breakfast to apologize."

It isn't a question, but he nods in reply. Sitting up, Cana considers him. "Eat it with me and we'll call it even."

Tentatively, he climbs into bed with her as he did yesterday, and it's too nice a situation; too domestic, too comfortable, and they both find they kind of like it. When the opportunity presents itself again, this time with Laxus having a piss poor day, Cana saddles up beside him at the bar.

"You shouldn't be drinking that much," she notes.

"Says the one with a liver that's taken vacation," he grumbles back.

Unperturbed by his sour tone, she takes a leisurely sip of his drink. "If you're just doing this so you can stay the night at my place again and be an annoying five year old demanding pancakes in the morning, just say so."

He takes his drink back from her and finishes the rest. "You're just hoping that you'll wake up to pancakes the morning after that, and me feeling like shit and serving you hand in foot to make up for my shitty behavior."

She smirks. "Something like that."

And what had been a mistake had become a habit, and Papa Gildarts isn't too happy about it when he gets the news, but that certainly won't stop them.

The morning following Fantasia a few months later, with all its grandeur, celebration, and of course, booze; Laxus already knows what the rest of the day will look like, and it mostly involves not leaving the bed he's currently in.

Rolling over and throwing his arm over the waist of the woman beside him, he presses an absent kiss to her bare shoulder and pulls her closer to him. The movement rouses her from sleep and she groans.

"Can you for five seconds," Cana begins, voice rough from sleep and the festivities that had her hoarse from shouting in the crowded guild last night, "wake up at a normal hour."

He glances bemusedly at the clock on his side of the bed and chuckles, pressing another kiss – this time on the juncture between her neck and shoulder – before retorting, "It's ten."

"It's early," she agrees, tightening herself into a ball.

There's a quiet for a moment as he eases her out of her stance, murmuring an apology with his fingertips that trace soothing lines on her arms and swirl playfully beneath her vest at her navel. Little by little, she uncoils, and sighs before with a frown in her voice, she declares, "I have a hangover."

"You had a lot."

"And you didn't?" Cana asks in surprise.

Laxus shrugs. "Someone has to make sure you get home safely."

"Oh really?" She turns over, her chocolate curls fanning across the pillow. "Is that your excuse for coming over now?"

"Well I do live here too so…"

Rolling her eyes, she lifts herself up with a forearm and nudges her nose with his. "I hope you don't get used to this."

"What?"

"This whole cuddly, be a boring home body, stay in bed thing that seems to be going on right now," she says dismissively.

His brow arches, more in amusement then skepticism. "Is there a problem with it?"

"Yes," she says dramatically, "there's no booze or pancakes involved."

 **A/n:** So I've rewritten this a few times now and I couldn't think of a reasonable ending so…yeah, not too fond of that, but I hope you enjoyed the rest of the story anyway :) If you liked it (or not) feel free to tell me so below :)


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